


for if the fire doesn’t burn

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Recall, Sharing Body Heat, cuddle or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Genji and McCree are stranded at Ecopoint: Antarctica, and Genji doesn't warm up too easily.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! This is mcgenji secret santa gift is written for [thunder-thighs-mccree@tumblr](http://thunder-thighs-mccree.tumblr.com/). The prompt was cuddling! :)
> 
> A bajillion million trillion thank yous to my sweetest pal Ariella for the beta and also for taking the idea of cuddling to the Next Level. Incredible, I am destroyed. /o/

* * *

Genji finds McCree by the light of his signal flare, its red glow faint and flickering in the distance. The darkness and whirling snow makes everything else difficult to see, and the harsh wind swallows up all sound, even with Genji’s sensors. By the time he reaches McCree, McCree is crouched low to the ground, either from exhaustion or to shield the signal flare from the elements. Genji can make out the movement of McCree’s head looking up at him and then the signal flare finally dies out, leaving only the green light from his armor as a dim beacon in the middle of the blizzard. He doubts anyone would see it; they had missed their rendezvous time by hours after the polar storm had caught them by surprise. No one will be coming for them now, not while the storm lasted.

“Found you, matchstick boy,” Genji says with morbid humor, kneeling down to haul McCree up. The wind howls over his words and there is a loud metal rattling in the distance. McCree doesn’t seem to hear him, but he lets Genji pull him up anyway.

McCree flinches as they stand, his gloved hand coming up to press against his left side. Genji has to stagger as McCree’s weight sways and something bumps against his foot, jarring him. Genji spares a look down, armor brightening for a moment. The source of the metal rattling becomes clear—a part of a satellite had broken off, sharp metal debris carried by the wind. His foot had touched a jagged piece of plating and loose wires, dislodging it from the snow.

Genji doesn’t see blood, not with the blurry frost blocking half his visibility, but McCree leans on him.

Genji shifts his hold on McCree, unwilling to let the realization sink in just yet. They need to move, get out of the storm—so Genji starts walking towards one of the square buildings he can make out through the hazy darkness.

Much of Antarctica's Ecopoint base had been in disrepair when he and McCree had arrived to scout the location. Genji remembers being unsurprised by its abandoned state, with all its technology dead and defunct, but hours ago the base seemed to have a serene air of loneliness. He had not predicted the old broken equipment to be a threat.

They reach the nearest building and Genji pries open the heavy door, thankful for the manual lock. Ice has chilled the around the door’s edges and it takes Genji nearly all his modified strength to heave it open. Beside him, McCree uses his metal arm to help, but it only makes it more apparent the other man is favoring his left side.

The door cracks open, just enough for Genji to hold it against the wind. With a clumsy step forward, McCree squeezes through, the thick fabric of his coat scraping at the frame, and Genji slips inside after him.

Genji seals the door shut. His ears ring in the sudden silence before he registers the sound of McCree sliding against the wall to rest on the floor.

He doesn’t see the blood either on McCree's coat, but it means very little when McCree pulls his hand away from his side and the underside of his glove shines wet and dark. McCree merely looks at it, expression concealed beneath goggles and a mask, and sets his hand back down.

“Be a doll, Genji. I’ve got a medkit on me, somewhere,” McCree says, muffled. He sits up, gesturing to the small pack he carries with him. He takes off his goggles and tugs down his mask, brow furrowing as his breaths puff out in cold air.

Genji guesses it is only marginally less cold inside than it is outside. He feels the coldness only distantly through his artificial limbs. If he takes off his helmet, Genji is sure he will feel the same icy chill on his face.

He takes a quick look around the small single room they are in, growing more dissatisfied by what little he sees. The lights do not work, on par with most of the technology in the ecopoint base, but it appears to be a storage unit. Nothing but sealed crates of equipment for whatever experiments the ecopoint scientists might have had.

Armor lights brightening, Genji kneels down at McCree’s side. He unclips McCree’s pack from his back, ungloved metal fingers more deft at unzipping the pockets than McCree’s gloved hand. The medkit contains the most basic survival gear, including an emergency blanket, and it would have to be enough.

McCree is already shrugging off his outer coat by the time Genji finishes laying out the medical supplies. He wears a second inner jacket, this one more visibly soaked with blood and reveals a shard of metal piercing through his side. His outer coat remains stuck to his left side, pinned by the satellite fragment, and McCree glances at Genji.

“Well, this ain’t pretty,” he says in a low drawl, but his teeth chatter violently, cutting off any levity he might have tried to dispel. He pauses. “Genji, you alright?”

Genji belatedly realizes he has not spoken since finding McCree out in the middle of the blizzard, and even then McCree had not heard him. He shrugs, fingers delicately touching the metal shard before he simply grips it and yanks it out. “I could be better.”

McCree sucks in his breath, cursing incomprehensibly, and manages to hiss, “Oh, _excuse me_ , just you?”

“Yes, and you, too,” Genji replies, using one of his smaller knives to cut away the rest of the fabric sticking to McCree’s side. He applies pressure over the bleeding wound, ignoring McCree’s body jerking away from his cold touch, and reaches for the medical gel.

Aside from the pained grunts, McCree is resigned to Genji’s ministrations. They both have enough experience with medics and doctors to know the routine of being patched up. He leans back against the wall, shivering, and seems to debate with himself before he pulls out a small biotic canister from one of his pockets and activates it between them.

The canister gives a tiny beep, emitting a field of healing and a warm glow. It’s better than Genji’s armor, soft yellow light somehow more comforting. He feels his weariness ebb away, tense shoulders relaxing, and he looks over McCree’s wound one more time, tapping the hardened gel. The cut had been deep, but clean as far as a stabbing goes. McCree’s face is pale under the light, lips turning a sickly shade of blue.

The medical gel will hold and the biotic field will do its job, but neither will keep McCree warm. He has already lost much of his body heat by removing his coat and jacket, and Genji is no use either; his armor is much too chilled, and it doesn’t escape his notice how McCree jolts when Genji puts his metal hand to his bare skin. He doesn’t do it again.

“This is like…” McCree begins, breath coming out in faint wisps. “You know, in those movies where they gotta share body heat except, heh, you’ll likely give me frostbite.”

Genji laughs, quiet, and unfurls the survival blanket, packaged so small it fits in the palm of his hand. He wraps it behind and around McCree, gesturing to the silvery foil. “This is more or less the same.”

“Not as handsome or charming,” McCree says, huddling into the thin material.

“Keep thinking those warm thoughts,” Genji says, very fondly, even though McCree’s shivering doesn’t stop.

“And you?” McCree asks. He makes a small inviting motion from under the blanket, a sweet but foolish enough gesture Genji assumes he is only being polite. It is a good idea, in theory, if Genji had not been made of metal and synthetic material.

“My armor is able to withstand the cold,” he says, ignoring the unreasonable temptation to sit next to McCree, take his visor off and press his face beneath McCree’s neck. He stands back up, as if the added distance will make it easier. The very thing keeping him alive would kill McCree, but he knows had they both been fully human they would not survive the night. “We’ll cuddle after.”

McCree snorts, but he falls silent, eyes finally closing in weariness. The biotic field darkens, all its energy spent, and the room becomes illuminated by the green light from Genji’s armor again. It somehow seems colder in the tiny storage room.

Genji looks down at McCree, the intermittent shaking of his body and shallow breathing. “Are you warm?”

“Well, I won’t say no to a nice bonfire,” McCree mutters. The blanket crinkles as he shifts the material over his face, patting around the ground to retrieve his mask. He admits, reluctantly, “I’m still cold.”

Genji picks it up for him, handing it over. This time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing aside the icy strands of McCree’s hair. The frost sticks to his fingers and doesn’t melt. McCree leans to his touch, despite it all.

“I have an idea to stay warm,” Genji says, staring down at him.

McCree doesn’t bother looking, but the crooked smile is in his voice when he asks, “Ooh, how?”

It would be easy to make the joke, but Genji doesn’t feel his usual wry humor up to it. He is glad McCree had made the implication anyway.

He says, “Easy. I’ll override my temperature regulators.”

“Your vents,” McCree mumbles, no doubt recalling the way the mechanical parts of Genji’s body can overheat. There is a long pause of wanting to argue against it, but he is bundled in every scrap of cloth they have. He shuts his eyes—he is in no condition to stop Genji in any case, so he says, “Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

Genji tilts his head, wondering if he should bother replying, but McCree’s breathing levels out in weary unconsciousness. He turns away, clenching his hands at his sides. There is not much time but Genji thinks it should be simple, if not as easy as he initially claimed it to be.

There is not enough room to run around or exert himself, and he doesn’t feel it safe enough to leave McCree to brave the blizzard alone. Genji presses between the buttons of his vents, shutting the ports closed. His armor lights flare bright for a second, acknowledging his commands. He locks the rest of it through the controls within the helmet’s screen, disabling his body temperature regulators.

Then, with calm determination, Genji begins to methodically tear the room apart. He rips open the metal crates with only his hands, pries off the paneling from the walls, and forces his way through sealed airlocks by sheer strength alone.

Years ago, overexertion had been an easy thing to achieve. In training, he’d wreck the equipment in thinly concealed rage, and in real battle he was no better, foul tempered and quick to throw himself into a fight. His body would overheat, spewing out hot steam, and it had only emphasized how inhuman he had become. It is both a physical and an emotional response, much to his constant frustration and humiliation.

Genji had been furious at everything and everyone, from his commanders to the doctors and at himself. He remembers it vividly, how hot he would go with fury. He tries to access it now, remembering his time in Overwatch, but there is very little left to burn from the past.

Genji punches the wall, watching as the alloy begins to form a small depression the shape of his fist. It is too precise. He lets his control slip, purposeful movements turning careless. The wall acquires several new dents, scattered all around.

His breathing speeds up, vital signs on his screen confirming a rising heart rate, but to his surprise it lowers, leveling off if he slows down. He pauses, head tilting, and realizes with mixed feelings he is no longer as angry or bitter—or at least not enough to override his sensors.

“Ah, Angela,” he mutters, panting as he flexes his hands. His vents remain shut, and he feels warmer than usual, but it’s not enough. “You really did build this body to last.”

And if it is his body that can withstand physical exertion then he would have to manipulate his own emotions more. Genji doesn’t balk. He thinks of things that would distress him again. It should be _easy_. He is a man with a short temper, a characteristic he isn’t very proud of, but of all days it seems tonight he comes up empty handed. Oddly enough, he thinks of Zenyatta, and Genji holds back a bark of laughter. He will need to do the opposite of everything Zenyatta has taught him, undo them one by one and _regress_.

It should scare him, but it doesn’t. He has never been afraid to hold back. Genji tries to draw on his bitterness and anger once more, before Overwatch, back when he had been deeply unhappy with his family. Old feelings he used to choke on. He punches the wall, repeatedly, and his emotions hold for a moment, bubbling up like black tar, then fall through. His hands press against the broken paneling, unclenching, and he breathes.

Thoughts that would cut sharp now melt like ice, like chilled water down his back. It is unpleasant, but the dark emotions no longer run his mind ragged and frayed. He is inwardly proud of himself, and that is something he cannot undo or unfeel, no matter how hard he forces himself.

Something shifts in the corner of his vision and Genji glances behind him. McCree stares back, awoken by the noise of Genji dismantling the room. He looks around, briefly eyeing the wreckage before he slumps back against the wall.

“You destroy half the place,” McCree says, voice faint but sardonic, “And you still haven’t found a heater? Or another blanket?”

Genji turns, walking to McCree. He passes the broken crates, the fallen metal panels, everything he has torn apart, and he stands in front of him, crossing his arms.

“You are more than welcome to look yourself,” he says.

McCree grins, teeth chattering, and the blanket crinkles open. He uses his metal hand to pat the spot next to him.

With a sigh, Genji kneels down, rewrapping the ridiculous foil blanket around McCree. His hands stay gripping the material for a moment before he leans forward, pressing his head to McCree’s padded shoulder. It’s not much, more for his own benefit than McCree’s.

“Aw, hun,” McCree murmurs, but he doesn’t move, mercifully doesn’t tell Genji it will be all right. His eyes drift shut again.

Genji lifts his head, staring blankly. The lights to his armor flicker off by his own power. And, maybe, it is a little easier to despair in total darkness.

He thinks of McCree dying right here, in Antarctica, so far from home. Distantly, Genji acknowledges his heart rate speeding up, the little number in the corner of his vision ticking upward. But he has had comrades die on him before; there is sadness, yes, but he thinks of losing McCree in this cold, harsh place, and it makes his breathing go shallow.

And it’s not the thought of McCree being dead— _they’ll all die, eventually, with the lives they lead_ —but Genji thinks there may be unfinished business between them, if McCree were to die now. These not-planned plans they do not talk about, things that linger in the back of Genji’s mind, things that he does not say out loud.

Genji feels McCree slide from the wall, no longer supporting his own weight. He catches him with a steadying arm, letting McCree lean against his cold armor. Genji doesn’t need to see the monitor on his screen to know how his heart jolts.

If he thinks about it rationally— _no_. Genji shuts his eyes, picking apart the details of his relationship with McCree, as ruthless and unforgiving as he did taking apart the room; what he wants, what he ignores, what he does not want to confront. There is no doubt in his mind that he likes McCree. In that, he has no problem admitting to his attraction.

But there are other things—like lingering in bed together in the mornings, the way McCree accepts a cup of coffee from him, the reassuring confidence Genji feels when McCree is beside him in the middle of a chaotic battle—those moments give him pause. Their easy affection and comfort is a little more than simple attraction, and it would be unfairly dismissive to call it as such.

Genji knows he can survive without McCree, with all his numerous other hurts, both past and present. But it hits him all at once that he would not want to. Adamantly, viciously, does _not_ want to.

Genji opens his eyes, unexpectedly angry all over again.

He thinks, he _thinks_ , he thinks he may be in, that he loves—

Genji feels himself grow hot with mortification and dismay. His body system flashes for a brief second, warning him of his increasing temperature. He sits back in disbelief, burning heat rising to his face, and grits his teeth, working himself up as his vents alarm.

It is absurd that he would allow Jesse McCree to die by something so simple and dull as hypothermia.

Genji nearly tips over, heated circuits and motors whirring in protest, their hot steam having no way to release and nowhere to go. He can barely breathe, but he uncovers McCree, careful not to tear the blanket in his haste, and pulls the jacket aside.

It is less of a hug and more of a desperate grab. Genji presses against McCree, chest constricting as McCree unconsciously shifts closer to him. He takes the blanket and drapes it over them both, feeling McCree shake and shiver beneath him, but that is ultimately better than being still.

The lights to his armor flicker on, and Genji wrestles with himself for a moment before he reaches behind his helmet, unclasping his visor. He flinches at the freezing air hitting his face, cold hitting inside his lungs. He inhales, slow. In a way, the chill is a relief from his overheated body.

And pressing his face to McCree’s neck is another kind of quiet relief. McCree’s rapid breathing evens out against his cheek, and Genji finally allows exhaustion to take him.

They will make it to morning.

* * *

“You’re very warm.”

Genji opens his eyes and finds McCree staring at him, eyes still glassy from sleep. He lifts his head, and McCree’s arms wrap around him, his hold weak but the gesture is there. Genji opens his mouth, soundless, and eventually decides to lean up and kiss McCree instead.

“What?” McCree says, mumbling over Genji’s lips. “Okay? Alright. Genji, please, watch the wound.”

“Sorry.” Genji grins, unrepentant. Sunlight shines through the singular window at the door, the snowy landscape at the ecopoint base quiet once more. Beside them, their communication devices blink, worried calls from Winston and the rest of the team finally filtering through after the polar storm.

“I think that’s them looking for us,” McCree says, picking up Genji’s visor. He kisses Genji in return before pressing the visor back into place.

They stay like that for a minute, with McCree’s hand over Genji’s face, a small smile shared between them.

“I would hate to keep them waiting,” Genji says, slipping out from the blanket.

“And I’d hate to stay, truth be told.”

The world outside is calm but no less cold. McCree begins to shiver again, the left side of his coat torn and exposing the thinner layers of his clothes. He loads the flare gun, this time pointing it at the sky instead of the ground. His hand wavers, and McCree blinks in the bright sun.

There is no way McCree would miss shooting at the entire sky, but Genji steps closer to him, pressing against his left arm, and McCree fires the flare with Genji’s hand steadying his wrist.

Together, they watch the streak of red cut into the sky, the sound of a transport ship humming in the distance, and wait for it to bring them home.

 


End file.
